Page 9 of Claiming His Bunny
Kayla sets the phone down and scrapes at the last bits of yogurt sticking to the sides of the cup. Once she has them all gathered, she puts the spoon into her mouth again, this time closing her eyes and smiling. I’m not close enough to hear her, and my lazy ass hasn’t installed the cameras inside her house yet, but I simply know she just moaned a little. Over a fucking yogurt. Fuck, I can’t wait for it to be my cock in her mouth.
“I need to pull myself together,” I remind myself even as I reach into my pants and start stroking myself like the creep I am. Blissfully unaware of my presence, Kayla gathers her phone, purse, and car keys, and leaves the house. Without putting the empty yogurt cup away.
I smirk. My little bunny is definitely not a clean freak like me. That’s going to get interesting when we live together. My sick mind is already coming up with sexy punishments for leaving a mess behind.
The mental image of her bent over my lap, her ass cheeks reddening as I spank her with my bare hand, helps me finish faster than I normally would, and my cum coats the bright green leaves of the bush in front of me. What a waste. I’d much rather have Kayla swallow it. Hell, I’d spoonfeed it to her like the fucking yogurt she just ate. With all the artificial flavors and preservatives they put into yogurts these days, I bet cum is a much healthier breakfast.
Once I make sure Kayla has truly left, I let myself inside her house. She really needs better locks. Of course, no locks would stop me, but I’ll have to motivate her to upgrade her security. I don’t want anyone but me invading her home.
I enter the living room through the back door, and though I’m eager to start exploring and setting up the cameras, I take a moment to just breathe in the air. The same air she breathed just minutes ago. There’s a faint whiff of her perfume lingering, slowly creeping onto me and assaulting my senses.
Oh, yes. I remember that scent. She smelled like this yesterday when we first met. When she walked straight into me and I pushed her away because I didn’t know what to do with all the feelings she awakened inside of me. I regret what I did. I should have pulled her into my arms and never let her go again.
Unable to help myself, I put the empty yogurt can into a trashcan. Knowing she had it in her mouth, I lick the spoon like a lollipop, imagining her tongue dancing with mine in a passionate kiss.
I’m not losing my grip on reality anymore. I’ve already lost it.
I adjust my pants and wash the damned spoon. Her cutlery drawer is a disaster. The forks tangled with the spoons, nothing in order. My hands twitch to fix it. But not today—not yet. I’ll do it another day, once Kayla has come to terms with the fact that she no longer lives here alone.
For now, she gets to have her small spoons mixed with the big spoons. I fail to stop myself from taking the fork from the spoon section and putting it with the other forks, but then I slam the drawer shut and refuse to look at it again. I’m here to set up the cameras, not clean up her kitchen. Yet.
I place the cameras around the living room and the kitchen. They’re tiny and wireless, a brilliant piece of technology I obtained by hacking into the systems of a private military contractor. I always use them to stalk my kill targets, and now I’ll use them to stalk Kayla’s every move.
Remembering the flowers I brought, I search the kitchen for a vase, but most of the cupboards are still empty. I do find a vase in one of Kayla’s boxes, though. It looks handmade, the crude pottery covered in various child scribbles. Some are more advanced, while others are just simple stick figures and unidentifiable shapes, as if multiple children of various ages took turns decorating it. Maybe Kayla and her siblings? My research revealed she has two brothers and a sister. As far as I could tell, they’re a big, loving family. That’s rare these days.
Carefully, I pour some water into the vase and check for leaks, but there are none. As crude as it is, it’s functional. Satisfied, I fill it to the brim and place it on the kitchen table, arranging the bouquet as best as I can.
It’s all bluebells. I wanted to bring roses, but that just seemed too cheesy. And apparently, bluebells symbolize eternal love, which makes them a fitting welcome gift for my precious bunny.
Certainly better than a heart. I can’t believe I actually considered it. My inner monster has a morbid sense of humor, which I find funny, but it can never be left in charge of choosing gifts.
Satisfied with the flowers, I move on to the bathroom. I take great care with the camera positioning in the small shower cubicle. I use three, just to make sure I always have a great angle. Another one goes above the bathroom mirror, and two more into opposing corners of the room. There will be no hiding from me.
The shelves and cabinets are mostly empty, except for a cherry-scented shower gel in the shower, and a toothbrush and toothpaste on the bathroom sink.
I lick the still-wet toothbrush because, apparently, that’s the kind of creep I am now, then turn my attention to the cardboard box tucked in a corner. It’s marked “bathroom” and contains a plethora of hair and skin care products, makeup, brushes, blow dryers, and other items I don’t even have a name for.
I sniff the shampoo and spread some of the hydrating lotion on my neck, imagining Kayla doing the same. I can’t wait to watch her evening routine to learn what products she uses and how. I’ll memorize every single thing so that when the time comes, and I move her in with me, I’ll be able to take good care of her just the way she likes it.
Her bedroom is a mess. I mean, I expected it to be untidy based on what I saw from outside, but damn! She’s only slept here for two nights, and most of her stuff is still in the boxes, but there are already countless articles of clothing scattered around the room, thrown haphazardly over the bedposts, chairs, a dresser corner, and, of course, the bed itself.
How does she function in this chaos? Just looking at it sends my mind reeling, and I have to clench my fists to stop myself from touching anything.
My mind requires order. Rules. It’s the only way I’ve been able to stay sane, to make sure I don’t succumb to the darkness inside of me.
Psychotic break, they call it. I’ve studied it to make sure I recognize the symptoms and stop myself from hurting someone innocent. Perhaps I’m already past it and I just haven’t noticed. After all, what I’m doing right now could be considered hurting an innocent person. Kayla will be frightened. Maybe my conviction that she’ll learn to accept me in time is the sign of the psychosis I’ve been looking for?
How does one recognize they’ve lost contact with reality?
I run a hand through my hair and let out an exasperated sigh, sitting down on her bed. Since the chaos surrounding me is distracting, I close my eyes and focus solely on my breathing.
Have I lost it completely? Am I hurting Kayla by being here? Did I finally cross that line where I stop being a psycho for a good cause and start being just a psycho?
I don’t think I have, but of course, what I think is hardly relevant. I might be suffering from delusions. Hallucinating. Did I make Kayla up, after all?
With a groan, I plop down on her pillow, her scent immediately enveloping me. Calming me. My whirling thoughts slow down, as if she’s soothing the storm inside my head. She’s not even here, and she’s already saving me. I can’t let her go. Ever.
Since I’ve already taken off my boots before entering the house, there’s nothing stopping me from curling up in Kayla’s bed. Her blanket is thick and heavy, and I immediately break out a sweat as I pull it over myself. Does she get cold at night?
